Saints and Soldiers
by Bret Baxley
Summary: Outgunned and ill-equipped a small band of Allied Soldiers behind enemy lines must fight the frigid wilderness and roving German troops to smuggle critical intelligence back to Allied territory.
1. Chapter 1 The Malmedy Massacre

SAINTS AND SOLDIERS

(Disclaimer: I don't own any of the characters. They belong to someone else. I just like them. I dedicate this fanfic to my friend My.Psuedonym.Was.Taken as she is unable to secure a DVD of the movie. This is for you. I hope you enjoy it.)

Chapter One: The Malmedy Massacre

Three men had been brought down by the sniper before they could figure out where he was hiding. The Lieutenant ordered him to clean out the sniper's nest from the tiny church tower and so he ran, rifle in hand, until he stood beside the open front door.

Unsure of the number of enemies that had barricaded themselves inside he pulled the pin on the grenade and tossed it through the doorway. It exploded sending shrapnel and dirt out of the entrance. Waiting long enough for the debris to clear, he charged through, barrel first, firing at any movement he saw.

But when he stopped to survey his handiwork he gasped in shock. Lying dead in the room were two women and six children, their blood splattered on the walls and pooling on the floor. Something in him sickened and he backed away in repulsion.

To his left from the corner of his eye he saw another movement. The sniper had descended the bell tower's wooden stairway trying to escape with hopes to kill again.

Seeing the movement instinctively he raised his rifle and fired. The German yelled out in pain and collapsed dead on the stairway. His work done he headed back to his unit to report.

Lieutenant Lewis and Master Sergeant Gunderson listened as Corporal Greer described the scene in detail. Nathan Greer, or Deacon as he was called, wept bitterly into his hands like a child as he told them about the women and children. The more he talked the harder he cried hysterically.

"I want you to take him to St. Vith," Lewis told Gunderson. 'There's a hospital there. He needs looking after before he goes completely out of his mind."

Gunderson nodded and loaded Deacon into a jeep and headed east on the frozen Belgium road. Deacon rode silently caught up in his own world of grief.

Belgium was a beautiful country and Gunderson mentally promised himself that one day, when the war was over, he'd come back and visit. He always loved the mountains and Belgium had mountains that made the Rockies look like mole hills.

At intersecting roads stood a sign that pointed one way to St. Vith and the other to the town of Malmedy. Just as they were approaching the intersection they found themselves surrounded by German Stormtroopers, shouting in German and waving rifles in their faces.

* * *

Gunderson and Deacon stood ankle deep in the snow along with what looked like no less than 300 American soldiers that had been caught by surprise and had no choice but to surrender. The soldiers stood with their hands in the air, stripped of their weapons, while several German SS walked up and down the rows of soldiers as they rifled through their pockets searching for intelligence or whatever they could find.

Two SS laughed wickedly as they emptied one man's pockets filled with cigarettes and stuffed them into their own. When pictures of wives or girlfriends were found the SS would mockingly make remarks and tear their pictures in half tossing them to the ground while infuriated soldiers could do nothing but watch.

One Medic was attending to an injured man screaming in pain and bleeding profusely from a deep wound in his thigh while an impatient SS looked on, a frown etched across his face. The SS cursed the medic in German and shoved him trying to hurry him up. The Medic frantically tried to tie a bandage on the soldier's leg in an attempt to stem the flow of blood. "Alright, alright ... I'm hurrying," he told the brute. "Shut up," he growled nervously at the man. "You're making Düsseldorf mad. You're gonna get us both killed."

A young Stormtrooper pulled a packet of gum and a pack of cigarettes from Gunderson's pockets and stuffed them into his own.

"I hope you choke on it," he mumbled to him as the Stormtrooper moved on seeming not to notice.

Next he reached Deacon and pulled several white packets out of his pocket. Tearing one open he sprinkled the contents on the ground.

"Was ist dies?" he asked not really expecting an answer.

"Instant coffee," Deacon replied. "Kaffee," he translated.

The Stormtrooper looked up surprised. "Sie verstehen Deutsch?"

"Ja," Deacon answered. "Nur ein wenig." Impressed the young Stormtrooper nodded.

From Deacon's front pocket he pulled out a small black Bible the size of his hand. Inside the front cover was tucked a picture of an attractive young woman.

"Meine Ehefrau," Deacon explained. "Bitte?"

The Stormtrooper looked around to see if anyone was watching. "Ja," he answered handing the Bible back to Deacon.

"Danke," Deacon thanked him stuffing the book back into his jacket pocket as the Stormtrooper moved to the next soldier.

"You must be livin' right," Gunderson leaned over slightly and whispered to him.

"Yeah," Deacon answered nervously.

The Americans were getting angrier and considerably more frustrated as they stood in line being stripped of their belongs and identities. A Private with a bloody bandage over one eye was in obvious discomfort and pain as he became more noticeably irritated. He could not stand the humiliation any longer. With a cry of frustration he broke loose from the ranks and ran towards the wooded area behind them.

"HALT! HALT!" one of the German officers yelled out. "Sie auf oder ich werde schieBen! Halt! Niemand Bewegung!" He began firing his luger over the Americans' heads.

For a moment the world seemed to move in slow motion as both sides wavered unsure of what to do. The Germans drew their weapons preparing to fire. One soldier stripped an German officers' rifle from his arms and pulled the trigger killing him instantly. This set off an immediate reaction as a volley of fire, like a gruesome firing squad, blasted from the Germans mowing down the unarmed Americans. As many of the men collapsed bleeding and dying in the snow others scrambled for the supposed safety of the forest. It was total chaos. Two men running beside Deacon went down shot in the back.

Deacon made it to the line of trees dodging between them as bullets whizzed around his head. One big Stormtrooper followed him but lost him in the confusion. Looking around he spied two Americans hiding under a fallen tree.

"Kommen Sie heraus!" he ordered. One of the hiding men was a the Medic.

"Nicht schieBt!" one of the soldiers called out as they stood with their hands up. He was answered with a bullet to his chest.

Deacon had stopped not far away to catch his breath when he heard the shot. Angry he lunged at the Stormtrooper ripping his Mauser from his grasp and using the butt to knock him on the ground.

"SHOOT HIM! SHOOT HIM!" the Medic yelled jumping from his hiding place. The now unarmed German stood up as Deacon pointed the rifle at him.

"Surrender! Surrender!" The big German pleaded for his life.

"What are you waiting for? SHOOT HIM!" the Medic yelled again watching in disbelief as Deacon hesitated. "Give me the rifle! I'll shoot him!" the Medic tried to grab the rifle from Deacon.

"NO!" Deacon confronted him swinging the rifle around pointing it at the Medic.

"HEY! HEY! WAIT!" the Medic jumped backwards startled.

The German saw this and took the opportunity to escape. Running back into the trees Deacon swung the rifle back around just as the German disappeared into the forest.

"Do you know what you just did? You let the enemy get away!"

"Shut up!" Deacon scolded trying to listen as he lowered the weapon.

"Deacon! Deacon!" It was Gunderson calling out trying not to draw attention.

"Come on!" Deacon said to the Medic when he saw Gunderson hiding behind a snow covered rock.

* * *

He tried to run and was trampled in the panic. Luckily the snow provided somewhat of a cushion and he was unhurt. But when he thought it safe to wriggle out from the pile of bodies that laid over him he changed his mind.

With the sound of a Luger he realized the Germans were systematically executing the American soldiers. If someone whimpered, breathed or cried out, they received a bullet to the head. So he lay as still as he possibly could, barely breathing.

Kendrick wondered how long he could pretend to be dead before they discovered that he wasn't. The snow was freezing cold and he tried not to shiver. It seemed hours went by before the Germans moved on leaving the bodies of the dead Americans in the bloody snow.

When he could hear no more he struggled to move the bodies off of him. Poking his head out he could see that he was alone and so he quickly moved towards the forest. Anywhere was safer than here. Moving from tree to tree watching and listening he thought he saw some movement over by a rock. Peering around a tree he startled the hiders and one raised a rifle in his direction.

Gunderson could see an olive green American uniform. "He's one of ours," he said to Deacon. Deacon nodded in agreement and Gunderson whistled like a bird in his direction. Kendrick heard it and knew he had found some of his own and scrambled towards them. He immediately recognized the Medic.

"I'm glad to see you fellas," he greeted them with a lilting Southern accent. "Gould, I'm hit," he pointed to his back. Gould lifted his shirt to access his wound.

"It's just a flesh wound. I can take care of that," he told him as he reached into his pack and pulled out an alcohol swab. As he cleaned the wound he looked at Gunderson "This is Shirl Kendrick," he introduced him. "I'm Steven Gould … 285th."

"I'm Gordon Gunderson. This is Nathan Greer … 101st."

"Please to meet you," Kendrick said. "Gould, what the hell happened back there? It's like everyone went crazy."

"I don't know. We're just lucky to be alive," Gould finished and pulled Kendrick's shirt down.

"Y'all just don't know how lucky," he said and then began to tell them about what he had witnessed the Germans doing to the wounded American soldiers.

"Bastards," Gunderson snarled. "They're executing unarmed soldiers." He became so enraged it took him a moment to gather himself. "We need to keep moving. We need to find somewhere safe to hide. If we're caught they'll do the same thing to us." All agreed.

"How many bullets you got?" he asked Deacon. Deacon held up four fingers. "Alright," he sighed squaring his shoulders. "Deacon, you've got lead. Let's head out."

Keeping a distance of several feet apart from each other the four of them headed out. Deacon carried the German Mauser ready for anything.

As he walked he suddenly heard faint voices whispering incomprehensible words. He stopped and scanned the woods trying to listen, to discern where it was coming from. The sound mixed with the cold wind and was gone. Shaking his head to clear it he continued forward. Gunderson watched him from a distance concerned but didn't say or do anything.

What was there for him to do?


	2. Chapter 2 The Shed

Saints and Soldiers

(Disclaimer: I don't own any of the characters, they belongs to someone else. This is dedicated to My.Psuedonym.Was.Taken.)

Chapter 2 - The Shed

Shortly they came upon an overturned ambulance. The occupants had been pulled from the vehicle and executed in the snow. When Deacon saw them he pulled off his helmet and went to his knees. He couldn't believe what he was seeing. A medic, the driver and three injured soldiers lay dead in a snow drift, their heads cruelly blow open. The ambulance had been heading to the hospital in St. Vith.

"I don't see any weapons," Kendrick said

"An ambulance," Gunderson snarled. "They mowed down a damn ambulance."

Gould, who was running short of supplies, rummaged through the overturned vehicle. Gunderson went over to Deacon. The look of shock on his face concerned him. Deacon's mental health was already frail and he feared this could push him over the top. But regardless of what had happened to him, Gunderson knew he was a good soldier that he could depend on, but he also knew he needed to get him away from this for now.

"Deac," he said as he patted his shoulder. "Why don't you head up the hill and keep watch. I'm gonna see if we can find some stuff we can use, and then we'll get out of here. All right?"

Deacon nodded a yes as he replaced his helmet and stood up.. His eye caught Gould pulling money out of a dead soldier's wallet and stuffing it into his own pocket.

"I hate robbing the dead," Kendrick grumbled.

"They've already been robbed," Gunderson answered him. "Just grab whatever we can use." He, too, began to search the pockets of the soldiers.

Watching Gould as he took the watch off a dead soldiers' wrist and put it on his own Deacon's eyes narrowed. Gould noticed Deacon looking at him the angrily but brushed him off with a calloused look and rolled his eyes. Gunderson, noticing Deacon's reaction, picked up a wool coat from the ground and handed it to Deacon.

"Deac, put this on." He got no response. "**Put it on! NOW!**" he shoved the coat at him. He had to break the tension between these two men. "Deacon, I need you at the road checking stuff out," he told him again getting no response. "**Go on! Get!**" he ordered, shoving him hard.

Deacon looked at Gunderson surprised but then nodded. Gundy was his friend and he trusted him. Walking away towards the road he pulled on the heavy coat.

* * *

As he walked down a road Deacon, rifle in hand, heard the mysterious whispering again. He spun trying to locate the direction it was coming from. Glancing over by the side of the road he saw the crumpled remains of a child's doll laying in the snow. It looked like the one he had seen at the church when he … when he … he closed his eyes hoping, praying that it really wasn't there. Squeezing them tight he shook his head trying to clear it and steadied himself. If the doll was still there he was going back to get Gunderson to try and find who was playing this cruel trick on him. Opening them again he looked. Where the doll had laid there was nothing. He searched the forest for any signs of movement but there was nothing.

* * *

Back at the ambulance Gould found compression bandages tossed haphazardly in the snow. He gathered all that he could and stuffed them into his medic bag. Gunderson found a map and a compass.

"How long has Deac been gone?" he asked Gould.

Gould looked at his confiscated watch. "Almost an hour."

"That's a nice watch, Gould," Kendrick spoke almost mockingly. "You gonna take my personals if I catch a bullet?"

"He's not going to miss it, trust me," Gould replied acidly. "And you don't have anything I want, except maybe your flashlight."

Kendrick chuckled slightly. "Hey Sarge, what's the deal with Deacon? He seems a little … jumpy."

"Deacon's fine. He's just a little on edge," he answered dismissively. He knew they had no idea what Deacon had been through and it wasn't the time or place to discuss it.

"He seems a nice enough fella and all, it's just …"

"He's shell-shocked," Gould diagnosed. "I've seen it a million times."

"Yeah, well don't worry about it," Gunderson told.

"Yeah, well, it's just a little frightening. We only have one weapon and he's holding it."

"Yeah, we do have one weapon," Gunderson looked at him. Now he was getting angry. "How did we get that weapon, Gould?" Gould looked down wishing now that he'd not brought the subject up. "Deacon saved my ass more times than I care to think about. He's fine."

Deacon trotted up to them with a small smile on his face. "What'd ya find, Deac?" Gunderson asked him.

* * *

Shortly they were pulling open the door of an old wooden storage shed. Deacon walked in first, weapon drawn.

"Home, sweet home," Kendrick joked.

"This'll be fine for us to hold up in for a few days," Gunderson looked around. "Let's see if we can get a fire going. Gould, you got any matches?"

"No," he answered him. "But I found a latrine." He picked up a metal bucket and set it on an old chest.

"Like I said, 'Home sweet home'," Kendrickchuckled.

"Deacon, I want you on first watch," Gunderson told him. Deacon again nodded and left as Kendrick pulled the door closed behind him.

The floor consisted of rotted and burned wooden slats. Gould stepped down as the floor seemed to give way under his weight and then quickly jumped back. Reaching down he pulled on some loose boards to reveal what looked like a big hole under it.

"Great," he said sarcastically. "This thing is really safe."

* * *

Deacon found a place by an old burned out farmhouse to watch the road. From his vantage point he could see and hear anything or any vehicles while not being seen himself. It was freezing cold as the wind swirled around him. Pulling the coat collar up around his neck he sat there trying to fight another enemy; exhaustion.

His head nodded ever so slightly as his body tried to doze when he heard a whisper. Immediately he was alert. Slowly and cautiously he peered over the edge of the embankment, rifle ready. In the woods he saw the faint figure of a woman standing looking at him. Raising his rifle he prepared to fire when the figure vanished. Blinking he scanned the woods but saw nothing. Sitting back down he didn't move. Was the figure actually there or just his imagination?

* * *

Back in the shed the three remaining soldiers began talking.

"Gunderson," Gould asked as he guarded the door. "What's with you and Deacon? You cousins? Separated at birth?"

"Deacon's the squarest guy I know. He's from some backwards town in Arizona. Doesn't drink, doesn't smoke, doesn't cuss. He's a preacher's kid that was raised in a church. That's why they call him The Deacon. Back home some of the neighborhood kids knew a good church going boy like him. They teased him unmercifully, laughed their butts off." Gunderson took another deep breath. "Tell you something else about Deacon. He's the best shot I've ever seen."

Gould shook his head satisfied at the reply.

"Where you from, Sarge?" Kendrick asked.

"Chicago, south side. How 'bout you?"

"Louisiana. Small town. Really small."

"How 'bout you, Gould?" Gunderson asked him. "Where you from?"

"New York."

"What part of New York?"

"Brooklyn … Heights," Gould said the words separately saying the last part as though it made a bad taste in his mouth.

"I like Brooklyn. Good jazz clubs," Gunderson smiled slightly.

"Yeah," Gould looked at him. "But if you want good jazz you gotta go to the Village."

"You want great jazz you go to New Orleans," Kendrick interjected.

Both men nodded in agreement and chuckled slightly.

* * *

Deacon had taken the picture out of his Bible and was looking at it. His lovely wife smiled back at him from it and he shed a tear. Slipping the picture back into the Bible he slipped into the coat pocket that was closest to his heart. How he longed to be with her, to talk with her, to hear her voice, smell her perfume. She was the love of his life. The more he thought of her the more he cried. He hated where he was and felt so very alone.

Getting to his knees he folded his hands and began to pray.

"Father in heaven, forgive me for the things I've done. I just need--"

He was interrupted by the sound of a vehicle approaching. Peering over the edge of the snow he didn't like what he saw. Sucking air between his teeth he grabbed the rifle and made a hasty retreat for the shed.

Kendrick was showing Gould a card trick.

"Stop," Gould said.

Kendrick lifted half of the deck up for him to see. "This is your card." He showed Gould an ace of diamonds.

"That's a pretty good trick, Kendrick," he snickered.

Deacon burst into the shed. "Got a jeep comin'!" he announced.

The men jumped to their feet on the edge of panic. Kendrick's cards slipped from his hand as he tried to gather them and stuff them into his pocket.

Gunderson pulled the door almost closed hearing the jeep approach. "Keep going, keep going," he said over and over, hoping. "Keep … they're stopping."

Deacon checked his rifle readying to fire if necessary. Gould thought of the floor.

"Gunderson!" he said frantically as he lifted some of the loose boards revealing the hole underneath it.

The jeep drove up with the Germans talking loudly to each other. One would have thought they were on a Sunday drive. Sliding to a stop in front of the shed one German picked up a lantern and lit it. Opening the shed door he held the lantern high so he could see inside the shed.

"Hallo! Jemand zu Hause?" he asked laughing and the others laughed with him.


	3. Chapter 3 Crucial Information

Saints and Soldiers

(Disclaimer: I don't own anything, any characters or nothing. I just really like this story. And as stated before I am dedicating this to my friend, My.Psuedonym.Was.Taken. I'm trying to take your suggestions to heart with making better descriptions. I hope they helped. BTW - I used yours you sent me. I couldn't help it, they were so good.)

Chapter 3 - Crucial Information

A fire crackled in a the metal bucket as the Germans relaxed in the shed. One of the German soldiers ate some brown food from a small tin can.

"Ech!" he shook his head in disgust at the foul tasting concoction. It was obvious from his reaction he was not enjoying himself and vigorously discussed it with another German who was trying to talk on a radio using a headset.

Under their feet the four Americans huddled silently in the hole hoping the floor above them would not give way. They covered their faces with their hands to keep the dirt from falling into their eyes and mouths. When Kendrick looked up he saw one of his playing cards sticking through a slat. Gunderson saw him and shook his head no. Reaching up he gingerly pulled it through while the others looked on in horror as they held their breaths. No reaction.

Suddenly the voice on the other end of the radio began shouting as a loud whirring sound, an explosion and a crash could be heard nearby. The radio operator shouted into the headset. Deacon tried to understand their conversation listening closely. Receiving orders the six Germans grabbed their weapons and gear and rushed out of the shed leaving the door open and quickly drove away.

With the clatter of the wooden slats the Americans crawled out of their hiding place spitting and brushing dirt from their faces and uniforms.

"I .. I don't know what they were saying. Deac, what did you get?"

"I couldn't hear 'em very good. Something about the Meuse River and that plane crashin'. Listen!" he held up his hand. Outside they could hear the sound of someone struggling.

Hanging from a tree a uniformed soldier attempted to free himself from a parachute that was caught in the branches.

"Bloody! Come on!" he spoke with a thick British accent. In the moonlight he could see four figures approaching. "Stand back!" he warned trying to reach a pistol. "Not a step closer!"

"I think he's a Kraut," Kendrick said as Deacon prepared to defend them. "I think we should shoot him."

"I've got a gun!" the Brit threatened.

"He's a Brit," Gunderson said. "Kendrick, go help him down."

"Stand back!" the Brit continued to warn them.

As Kendrick approached him Gunderson tried to reason with him. "Alright, just calm down," he raised his hands.

"No!"

"Here we go. Come on," Kendrick said to him as he pushed the release mechanism on the halter. The Brit fell landing on top of Kendrick.

"Get back!" he shouted pulling a pistol from his holster and pressing it against Kendrick's head. Everyone watched in bewilderment, only Deacon taking any ready action.

"Whoa!" Deacon yelled sternly, steadying his rifle and aiming for the Brit's face. The Brit showed no sign of fear; Kendrick was becoming pale.

"Take it easy!" Gunderson called out, pleading with him.

"Drop it!" the Brit demanded, cocking the pistol..

"You drop it!" Deacon demanded back. He was prepared to kill this man.

"Drop it!"

"Keep it down!" Gunderson spoke calmly try to control the situation. He was fearful of being heard by the enemy.. "We're Americans!" he explained holding his hand out hoping to convince the Brit they were allies.

"Prove it!" the Brit demanded.

"What?" Gunderson looked at him incredulous.

"Who's the third president of the United States?"

"Just put the gun down!" Gunderson pleaded.

"Thomas Jefferson!" Gould quickly answered.

"Who's the fourth?"

"Ah … ah, Madison! What's with this guy?" Gould looked at Gunderson shaking his head.

"What's the capital of Vermont?"

"Hartford? Ah,... I …I'm …," Gunderson stumbled uncertain. The Brit pushed the pistol harder against Kendrick's temple.

"Sarge?" Deacon yelled readying to fire. All it would take was one word from Gunderson and the Brit was dead.

"Give me a break! Nobody knows that!" Gould scoffed. "You tell me!"

The Brit blinked, hesitating a moment before making a decision. Uncocking the pistol he pulled it away from Kendrick. "Haven't the foggiest. Sorry, boys," he patted Kendricks shoulder as though he were a long, lost friend. "Where's your command post?" he asked standing up and moving over to Gunderson.

"Used to be that way," Gunderson motioned with his head as he narrowed his eyes. Was this guy serious?.

"Sorry for the trouble. Thank you," the Brit moved in the direction Gunderson had motioned.

As Kendrick got up he mumbles, " Montpelier."

"About how far back?" the Brit asked him.

"About 10 to 15 miles. Soldier, who are you?" Gunderson stuck his face in his. He'd about had enough of this guy.

"Flight Sergeant Oberon Winley, Royal Air Force."

"Oberon?" Kendrick mocked.

"Winley," he answered Kendrick. "Look," he turned back to Gunderson. "I am in possession of some crucial intelligence. I need to get to the nearest command center..."

"Buddy, you must have smashed your head on a limb coming down or somethin'," Kendrick scoffed.

"… or a bloody field phone, at least."

"There are no field phones, and you will keep it down," Gunderson warned him sternly.

"Should we shoot him now, Sarge?" Kendrick growled.

"Shut up!" Gunderson scolded him. He was on the edge. "Winley, where were you are going?"

"I was intended to fly back to Manhay."

"Really? Well, we've had a bit of bad luck ourselves. A Panzer division went on a spoiling expedition and we are now behind enemy lines."

"What I've got isn't about some spoiling expedition. This is a major a German offensive."

* * *

The only good thing the Germans did for them was to leave the fire burning in the metal bucket. The five soldiers huddled around it for warmth as Winley explained his mission.

"After the Germans attacked, we were ordered to fly an emergency re-con mission to collect electronic intelligence. We were flying under some -- some cloud cover and … and snapped some rather revealing photos. But by the time we realized what we had, a German fighter had shot us down."

"So you need to get to intelligence," Gunderson finalized.

"Yes, and it's damn critical we get there as soon as possible," he stressed as he lifted the brown cover on a notepad that revealed a map and he went on to explain. "They've punched through all along here," he pointed on the map, "right where we're thinnest."

"Why would they do that? If they punch through here they're exposing their flanks."

"That's right. Unless, of course, they hurry and make it to the Meuse River and cross over."

"I don't get it," Kendrick puzzled.

"Well, if they cross the Meuse River," Gunderson understood, "they can turn and take Leige. I went through there on my way in. It's got one of the biggest ammo dumps I've ever seen there."

"It's one of the largest in Europe," Winley added.

"And if the Krauts take Leige they take the ammo dump." Gunderson nodded.

"Or we have to destroy it. Either way it's a straight shot for them to take back Antwerp."

Kendrick picked up Winley's notebook and tried to read it. "What's this? This ain't German."

"Thank you," Winley snatched the papers out of his hand as though he were a naughty little boy. "We've got to get these to intelligence before the Germans cross the Meuse River," he emphasised.

"It's over 20 miles," Gould scoffed.

"Yes, as the crow flies," Winley answered. He was getting perturbed with these Yanks.

"We're supposed to out run an entire Panzer division - on foot?" Gould added sarcastically, shaking his head.

Gunderson looked over the map for a moment. "You know, we could follow this rail line along here and cut through here," he moved his finger along the map, "short cut 'em here." He looked at the men. "Could save a lot of troops".

Their priorities had changed. Previously their only concern was surviving the war. Now it was getting Winley to the Americans with this vital information. Each man accessed this and nodded. It didn't take much more convincing that they would be doing the right thing.

* * *

And so they headed out across the frozen countryside. All there was to look at was snow, trees and the back of the guy in front of them, but onward they moved. The deep snow made the going hard and difficult. At times the drifts were thigh deep as they struggled slowly forward.

After a few miles Deacon, who was leading them, stopped; hearing it again; the mysterious whispering. It was coming from every where and nowhere. Scanning the trees he tried to find its origin. Gould was behind him and also stopped, confused but heard nothing, not even the wind.

"Hey," he moved up to Deacon. This would be a good opportunity to for him to access him and give him an idea of Deacon's mental state. "Where'd you learn to speak German?" Deacon looked puzzled. "Your German, where'd you pick it up?"

"Oh, in Berlin," he answered.

"What were you doing there? Going to school or something?"

Deacon looked at him. This would be where he would get teased if they were kids and the sting of being bullied was still sharp. "I was a missionary."

"That must have been neat," Gould spoke caustically. He hated Germans and anyone or anything having to do with them. "Hanging out with a bunch of Krauts talking about God. How is Adolph?" he narrowed his eyes as his mouth curled in a sneer.

"I loved it," Deacon looked at him sincerely. "It was the best time in my life."

Gould frowned as he looked at Deacon. He could not imagine anyone enjoying the company of Germans Disgusted he spat on the ground and he walked away giving Deacon a hard look.

* * *

Shortly they came across a stream that ran cold clean water. This would give them an opportunity to rest. Gunderson filled his canteen and took a drink.

Winley leaned against a tree and pulled out a pack of cigarettes. Lighting one up he took a deep drag. Kendrick sat by Deacon counting his cards when he saw Winley blow out the smoke.

"I need a smoke," he said and moved over by Winley. The two of them had gotten off to a bad start so he tried to make amends. "Sooo … Winley," he sounding a tad bit over friendly. "Where'd you say you were from exactly?" He couldn't keep his eyes off of the cigarette.

Winley looked at him, unimpressed. "What is it, Kendrick? You want one of my fags, is that it?" he asked raising an eyebrow.

"Well, uh …That's … Hmm," he stumbled over his words. With a sigh of defeat he said, "Forget I asked."

"No problem." Even though the Americans were Allies for the most part he was unimpressed with them, especially the big ignorant Southerner, Kendrick.

Gould and Gunderson sat side by side. He could see the stress in both of their faces and his medical training made him alert to potential health problems. "How long since you and Deacon slept?"

"Me - two days. Him - three or four."

"You know, the longer he goes without sleep, the more he's going to lose it."

Gunderson couldn't believe his ears. Gould had no idea of what Deacon had been through. "Thank you," he barked at him giving him a look of disgust.


	4. Chapter 4 I should be home

Saints and Soldiers

(Ok, short but sweet. I hope it's good. As always, I don't own anything. Let me know what you think, everyone but especially My.Psuedonym.Was.Taken .)

Chapter 4 - "I should be home"

Kendrick ran through he snow looking like a tragic Shakespearean character. Stopping by a tree he motioned for them to wait. Running again he stopped at a tree stump and motioned for them to wait. He made it to what looked like the collapsed remains of another bombed out house and he again motioned for them to wait.

"What's he doing?" Winley asked confused.

"He's making sure all's clear," Gunderson explained. Even though Kendrick was somewhat clumsy, Gunderson wasn't going to fault him for it. He was a soldier and he recognized that in him. Deacon and Gould quietly watched.

Slipping under the snow covered roof a flock of pigeons flew out when he reappeared. He gave them the all-clear signal.

"Okay, let's go," Gunderson ordered.

At the roof Gunderson spoke to the men. "Okay, we've gone about 12 miles. We've got to stop. We've got to get some shut-eye. Alright?" They all nodded in agreement. "We'll leave in about an hour. I'm gonna take first watch."

"No, I've got it, Sarge," Deacon volunteered.

"No, you don't. You gotta get down there and get some rest," he eyed Deacon, thinking about his and Gould's conversation earlier. "Alright, move in," he ordered the men.

After Deacon and Gould slipped under the roof, Gunderson hesitated a moment. "Hey, Kendrick, that was real nice work," he encouraged him.

"Thanks, Sarge," he smiled feeling proud of himself.

As Winley followed Gunderson, he couldn't resist a jab at Kendrick.

"Yes, thank you for protecting us from the birdies. Very decent of you," he snickered and went in.

"Very decent of you," Kendrick imitated sarcastically, under his breath.

Inside it was filthy. The floor was covered with black ash and half burned timbers. Pieces of broken and charred furniture laid strung across the floor. A rat crept around a timber looking at the new tenants before retreating back into its hiding place. .

Gunderson stood watch at the opening while the others tried to sleep.

Deacon read from his Bible and found his eyes growing heavy. As his head nodded, his chin dropped down on his chest. In a dream, he was stepping into the church as he sought out the sniper, the steps creaking under his footsteps, fear tingling his spine. Firing his rifle, he saw the doll again laying on the floor. Looking on in horror, there was an explosion and he awoke with a gasp disturbing a resting Gould. Gould gave him a look of disdain and closed his eyes again. Deacon, feeling embarrassed, went back to reading.

* * *

Until the sound was nearly upon him, Gunderson did not hear the footsteps that crunched in the snow or the soft chatter of voices as he dozed off. When he finally did hear it, he jerked awake just as a band of German soldiers moved into view. Deacon moved over by him holding Winley's pistol ready to fire, if necessary. The Germans moved past the collapsed roof, unaware of the presence that watched them.

"I fell asleep," he apologized to Deacon, after the danger was gone .

"Well, you're not the only one," Deacon grinned slightly.

"What about you?"

"No," Deacon sighed shaking his head.

* * *

Later, over a can of Sterno, they heated water in metal cups. Ripping open a white packet Gunderson watched as Deacon sprinkle the contents into the hot water. He was tired and fed up. Nothing made sense to him anymore.

"What the hell are we doing here, Deac. This is crazy," he sighed.

"You got that right," Deacon agreed.

"I should be home right now - should be playing with my nephews, flirting with the girl at my Dad's store … what was her name?" he looked off and wondered for a moment. "I can't remember her name. And you," he looked at Deacon. " -- you should be doing -- whatever it is that you do."

"I should be helping my wife get ready for the baby," he gave Gundy a grin.

"You didn't tell me she was having a baby," he returned the smile, glad to hear some good news for a change.

"Yeah -- I got the letter on Thursday," he nodded proudly. "She says she knows it's going to be a girl." They both chuckled happily together.

"She must be due soon."

"Yeah, the end of January."

Gunderson nodded. "Thursday," he thought for a moment. "That was -- that was the day we hit Essendor."

Deacon nodded with a sad faraway look in his eye. Gundy wished now he'd not brought it up. He knew this would brew up terrible memories for him.

"You'll be alright, Deac," he tried to comfort him. "We just gotta get Winley to Manhay, win the war and go home."

Deacon nodded wearily.


	5. Chapter 5 Deacon's Ghosts

Saints and Soldiers

Chapter 5 – Deacon's Ghosts

An hour later they were on their way once again only this time Gunderson led the way. Cautiously and carefully he moved through the forest, rifle poised for defense as he watched and listened.. In some places the snow was knee deep and difficult to move through. On and on the small band moved through the Ardennes forest. Gunderson stopped under the canopy of some large fir trees and motioned for the group to gather.

"I gotta figure out where the hell we are," he said handing the rifle to Deacon and pulling out the map and compass he had found at the ambulance. As they waited Winley decided to strike up a conversation with the men.

"So, Gould," Winley started. "What's your secret?"

"What?" Gould asked irritated.

"You know, your big secret, you don't tell the other chaps around the campfire. I mean, we've all got them. I'm sure Kendrick here has 10 or 20 of them."

"Yeah, well, I don't have any of those."

"Rubbish."

"Even if I did why would I tell you?" It was obvious Gould was not fond of the Brit.

"You don't have to tell me, of course, it's -- it's just that we're on this perilous mission together. And I've found that when men can share anything with each other -- anything, well it creates a sort of -- Esprit de Corps, you follow?"

"Yeah, well forget it," he breathed into his hands trying to warm them.

"Righty-O. You can play as you want."

"I never kissed my wife 'til the day we were married," Deacon offered.

"All right, Deacon. You see, I feel close already."

"When I was 15," Gunderson added, "I showed up at school with a bloody lip. I told the guys I got it playing stick ball, but I actually got it 'cause I got beat up by Alice Palisky."

"Alice Palisky. Good, good," Winley chuckled.

"All right, all right," Kendrick wanted to be a part of this so he offered his secret, "One time when I was, uh, in high school, I was working on my dad's truck. And he had one of them vacuum tubes -- you know what I'm talking about -- And, uh, I figured out that if I held it just so and sucked," and he made a sucking sound as though sucking through a straw, "I could give myself hickeys. I had them all over my neck. And I told my buddies that, uh, I had a girl out of town."

All of the men chuckled. Winley couldn't stop laughing covering his mouth with a gloved hand to muffle it..

"Guess we found a new nickname for Kendrick. Hickey," he teased and they all laughed more except for Kendrick. Shaking his head in disgust he now he wished he'd never volunteered the story.

"Let's go," said Gunderson. "we're making good time, but we gotta keep moving."

As they got up to move once again Kendrick reached out stopping him."So, Winley, what's your secret, huh?" he asked hoping to hear something juicy and incriminating.

"Good grief, you think I'd tell you chaps? I've just barely met you," Winley walked away, chuckling to himself.

Kendrick couldn't believe his ears. He'd been outsmarted by the Brit once again.

* * *

Deacon guided the band silently through the forest carrying the rifle. He heard something in the woods and raised his hand to signal the others to stop. Gould saw it and motioned to the others further behind him to also stop. The men crouched down, alerted. Something was wrong.

Raising his rifle, every muscle in his body tensed for action. Somewhere ahead of him were voices, whispering. Then they were to his side. In his left peripheral vision he saw blurred movement, the sound of running steps in the snow. Then it was behind him and he swung around facing the direction he had just come, where the men waited and watched. Instinctively they also looked behind them expecting anything, but nothing was there. Confused they turned back to Deacon.

"What the hell is he doing?" Gould asked confused.

The sound was in front of him again and he swung back around, his weapon ready snd aimed. There in front of him stood one of the women and three children from the church tower, a look of terror on their faces.

Deacon gasped and screamed. The innocent ones he had killed now stood in front of him; haunting him; terrifying him; filling him with fear and dread for what he had done to them; wanting retribution; vengeance; justice.

"NO!!" he screamed throwing down his rifle and dropping to his knees. "NO! NO! NOT THIS!! NOT THIS!!" He tried to crawl away. Gunderson saw him and immediately ran to his side. "NO!! NO!! DON'T KILL ME!! NO!! NO!! HELP ME!! HELP ME!!" his voice echoed through the forest.

Gunderson grabbed him as Kendrick reached for the rifle. Deacon kept screaming.

"Cover his mouth," Gould yelled. "He gonna get us killed. Bring him here," they pulled him up to a tree.

"Deac! Deacon! Deacon! Shush! It's okay," Gunderson tried to calm him as Gould muffled his screams with a gloved hand. Deacon continued screaming and sobbing loudly. "Can you do something for him?" he pleaded with Gould.

"He needs a warm place to sleep."

"Yeah, we really don't have that, do we, Gould?" he yelled. Gould continued to hold his hand over Deacon's mouth muffling his screams. "What can you do for him here, right now?"

He looked at Gunderson. There was something he wasn't telling him. "Deacon," Gould tried to get through to him. "Deacon! Do not get us killed! Look at me! LOOK - AT - ME!! Open your eyes and look at me." Deacon opened his eyes shaking with fear and breathing hard. "Relax. Breathe. I'm going to take my hand away from your mouth. Do not scream, okay?" Deacon nodded yes. "Okay. Shh." Gould slowly lifted his gloved hand from Deacon's mouth.

"Did you see 'em?" a look of panic on his face as he asked both Gould to Gunderson. "Did you see 'em? Tell me you saw 'em," he pleaded.

"It's okay, Deacon. It's okay, Deacon," Gunderson tried to reassure him.

"Come with me," Gould pulled Gunderson's arm. "Here, oyu sit with him," he told Winley. Winley put his arms around Deacon to comfort him while Gould and Gunderson moved a short distance away.

"Talk to me," Gould looked at him.

"All right," Gunderson hesitated before he swallowed hard. He didn't like telling this story. "Last Thursday we ran into some Krauts in a little town in the Elsenborn Ridge. They were pulling out, but this one little bastard was holed up inside a church. Deacon was sent to take him out. It was dark in there. Somebody took a shot at him so he threw in a grenade, sprayed the room, went in and took the guy out. In the room were two women and six kids. It was a mess. When it was over, Deac just … flipped out. Our C.O. gave me a jeep to have him checked out at St. Vith. We got captured about an hour before you guys ran into them at Malmedy." He looked over at Deacon and back to Gould. "You don't mention this to him. Do you understand, Gould?" he emphasized pointing his finger at him.

"Yeah," Gould nodded. No wonder Deacon was flipped out.

"All right, what do we do?"

"We keep him talking," Gould was sounding like a doctor, now. "Don't let him go off by himself. And, please, put that rifle in somebody else's hands."

"Yeah," Gunderson agreed.

* * *

After Deacon gathered himself they took the opportunity to rest for awhile before moving on.

"47, 48, 49, 50, 51 … C'mon. Damn." Kendrick counted his deck of cards, frustrated at not having a full deck.

Gunderson checked the map again using the compass. Satisfied, he closed it sticking it back into his pocket. Gould nibbled on some crackers and watch the now sedate Deacon read his Bible as he sat leaning against a tree..

"What is that, some kind of code?" Kendrick asked Winley as he looked over his intelligence.

"It's the way I write," Winley answered snobbishly as he took a drag from his cigarette.

"I hope somebody can translate it."

"Of course ... I can," he looked down his nose at the Southerner.

"Are you trying to tell me you're the only person who knows what that says?" Gunderson looked at him in disbelief.

"Yes, that more or less sums it up."

"So, us not letting you die would be pretty important?" Gould asked looking sharply at him.

"Yes."

Gunderson again couldn't believe the audacity of this Brit. "Great," he said disgusted. "Kendrick, you got watch," he handed the rifle to him. "Winley, give me your pistol. I'm gonna scout a bit. I'll be right back."

After Gunderson left Gould's attention was drawn back to Deacon who seemed lost in thought, so he moved over by him.

"That good reading?" Gould asked him as he sat by him.

Deacon looked over at him thoughtfully. "Do you believe in a life after this one?"

Gould scoffed bitterly. "Not a chance in hell. When we first got here, I was working on this kid. He got shot up pretty bad. He kept saying, 'Please, God. Please God' over and over … like it meant something. He was so sincere about it, I thought it might work. Then two minutes later he was dead. There wasn't a thing I could do about it. When I looked into his eyes … there was nothing there. Nothing," he emphasized. "That's when I realized that … this is it."

"It's funny."

"What could possibly funny about that?" Gould spoke acidly.

"I don't mean it's funny funny. It's just that, uh … We were just outside Sainte-Mere-Eglise. We were getting pounded pretty hard. I was holding this … this kid on my lap, and … he was shot up pretty good. And I remember him praying. And I was praying, too. Then all of a sudden, he … he was gone. And that was -- that was it, really. That was the first time that I -- that I really watched somebody die. But right then, I knew he was -- he was in a better place."

"How convenient for you," Gould replied caustically.

"Convenient," Deacon snorted. "Yeah, that's what I was thinking about what you said. Funny, huh?"

"Where you from?" Gould asked deciding to change the subject.

"Arizona."

"I know Arizona. Where in Arizona?"

"Snowflake."

"Snowflake -- I never heard of it. What do you do in Snowflake for fun?"

"Hunting."

"What do you hunt?" This is like pulling teeth Gould thought.

"Whatever's in season."

"So, you like to shoot things?" Deacon looked at him hard. "Forget I asked." Gould was quiet for a moment but then asked him, "So, why do you like the Krauts so much?"

"Cause I know 'em," Deacon shrugged. "I know that most of them are just like you and me. They just wear a different uniform."

"So Adolph Hitler is a pretty nice fella?" his tone became acid again. "Once you get to know him? It's just a different uniform?"

"That's not what I said."

"Those guys at Malmedy -- they're just like us, except they got different helmets on?" he felt like screaming at him, punching him.

"If it makes it easier for you to hate 'em, then go right ahead," he looked at Gould.

Gould got angry, his face reddened. "You know what, if it weren't for them, I'd be finishing med school and putting a cast on Billy's leg 'cause he broke it falling off his bike. But instead I'm pulling lead out of his 17-year-old brother's gut, 'cause he wanted to serve his country, and he lied about his age. And now he's spitting up blood, lying in the dirt, and asking God to come and save him. It's more than a different uniform." Gould spat the words out at him and moved away.

Deacon shook his head sadly and sighed.


	6. Chapter 6 Refuge from the Storm

Saints and Sinners

(Ok, once again with the disclaimer. I don't own any of these characters from the movie. And I cannot begin to tell you, My.Psuedonym.Was.Taken, how much your comments and suggestions have been. You've given me a lot of insight to become an even better writer. I hope this chapter blesses you. It did me.)

Chapter 6 - Refuge from the Storm

Onward they walked through through the snow. It was difficult and tiring, taking its toll on the exhausted men. The sun came out and warmed their faces, making their ordeal a little more bearable. But it was short lived as gray clouds trekked across the sky blocking out the sun. Had they known what Mother Nature had in store for them their hearts would have sunk.

"I haven't seen any movement by the Germans as of yet," Gunderson said to Winley as they stopped once again to get their bearings.

"They must be stalled somewhere in here," Winley pointed on his map.

"Yeah, this weather can't be helping them much either. How far is it to Manhay?"

"About 15 kilometers," Winley estimated.

"Alright, if this weather keeps up we should be able to beat 'em. Get there by dark. Alright, let's move out. Come on."

* * *

They hadn't gone three miles when the blizzard hit hard. The harsh winds hammered the trees and froze the men to the very core of their being. The going was nearly impossible as the snow thrashed and pummeled them and piled higher and deeper.

Kendrick led them down a small embankment barely able to see. Just as he reached the bottom, the ground gave away under his feet. The snow had disguised yet another bombed out shell of a house. As the timbers broke away he fell into a black hole landing with a hard crash.

"Kendrick!" Gould cried out to him as he rushed, or rather slid, down the same embankment. Gunderson followed close behind. The front of the building had been boarded shut. Wooden boards barred the entrance to keep anyone out of the dangerous building. Gould grabbed the boards pulling them off one by one until he was able to reach the moaning and disoriented Kendrick.

"Kendrick! I'm here, buddy." Gould checked him for broken bones but found none. "Kendrick can you hear me?" The big Southerner had been knocked senseless. "We can't do this here!" Gould frantically told Gunderson. "We can't keep going like this!"

"We gotta get him outta here," Gunderson said as the snow kept pouring down on them.

"If we stop now there's no way we're going to make it in time!" Winley said, anxiously.

"If we can't move, they can't move. And we can't move!" Gunderson yelled at Winley. "Come on," he reached down to help Kendrick up. He was already covered with snow.

"Come on, Kendrick. We're going," Gould and Winley both helped him to his feet.

Moving a short distance they came across a sturdy looking farmhouse built from field stones. It had a small storage building close by made from the same kind of stones. It seemed that every house in Belgium had their own storage buildings near by.

Moving stealthly across the grounds, Gunderson pushed open the storage door and checked to see if it was vacant. The inside had wooden boxes stacked against the far wall. They were the kind used for shipping fruit. There was a smattering of furniture but no one was there so he motioned for the others to come. As they entered he put a gloved finger to his lips to remind them to keep their voices down.

Gould and Winley helped Kendrick walk in, each of his arms over their shoulders. Kendrick moaned as he sat down on a crate. "I'm so cold. I'm so cold," he shivered.

Gunderson moved a chair by the window next to the door and sat down, guarding the men.

* * *

It was cold inside the shed but at least they were out of the cutting wind. As he watched the snow he began to hear music being played on a record player. It came from the direction of the house. They all listened.

"Sounds like opera music," Winley commented.

"I'm going to check it out. Winley, give me your pistol," Gunderson told him.

Deacon grabbed the rifle. "I'll go with ya," he said to Gunderson.

"I got it, Deac."

"But Sarge, I can …"

"Corporal!" he pulled rank on him. The two friends looked at each other for a moment. Deacon was like a son to him, a son he never had but would have wished for. Deacon looked to Gundy like a father. He was older by five years but a thousand years wiser. The two men admired and respected each other. Their trust was deep.

"Don't worry about it," Gunderson spoke softly to him. "Just open the door."

And Deacon did just that. As Gunderson slipped back out into the blizzard Deacon watched from the shed door, ready to come to his aid if necessary.

The music wafted down some wooden steps that led to a side door of the house. Cautiously, he climbed the snow covered steps making sure no one was watching. Ducking under a window he took off his helmet and peerede through the glass, but could see nothing. Leaving his helmet by the door he reached up and turned the door handle. It was unlocked. Stepping inside, he quietly closed the door behind him and listened.

A record turned on a player as a high lilting voice sang in French. In the kitchen a dark haired woman kneaded bread on a floured board. Gunderson watched her from an adjacent room not making his presence known yet. Finishing she went to the sink to wash her hands. Gunderson crept into the kitchen with the pistol drawn. The woman's back was to him as a floorboard creaked under his foot. He stopped.

"Le dîner sera prêt bientôt, Sophie," smiling she turned around but when she saw Gunderson she gasped in fright.

"It's Okay, Lady," he tried to reassure her. "I'm an American. I won't hurt you."

Grabbing a big butcher knife she held it out threateningly. "Si vous ne partez pas je vous tuerai!" she warned him.

"PUT - THE - KNIFE - DOWN!" he instructed her, trying to keep control of the situation.

The woman pointed her finger at the kitchen door and spoke to someone. "Sophie, n'entrent pas ici. Veuillez aller à votre pièce."

Gunderson looked down at a little girl with hair the same color as the woman. He had no intention of hurting either one of them.

"It's Okay, look … I'll put the gun down," he spoke as he uncocked the pistol and set it on the kitchen counter. "I'm an American … put the knife down." Watching him lay his weapon down she, likewise, laid down the knife by the sink.

"American?" she questioned, looking at him.

"Yes, American … American," he kept saying over and over,

"American," she sighed relieved.

"Mère," the little girl called her mother, frightened..

"Me venir," she held her arms out to her daughter. Running into her mother's arms, hugging her tightly for comfort. "American?" she questioned again.

"Yeah," Gunderson backed against the wall glad this was over. Deep inside he would have hated to kill the beautiful woman.

* * *

Gunderson burst into the storage building carrying an arm load of blankets, followed by the woman and child. The men sprung to their feet not knowing who was coming in on them.

"It's okay, fellas. This is Madam Theirrey," he introduced.

"Caterine," she smiled at them.

"Caterine," he corrected himself, trying to pronounce it like she did.

All of them men stood and nodded. Winley took off his woolen cap.

"Vous sont tous Américains?" she asked.

"Yes, we're all Americans. Except for Winley. He's British. He's from England."

"Ah, Anglais!" she smiled brightly and went over to Winley, greeting him with a kiss on each cheek. He returned the sentiment.

Caterine went to each man greeting them in the same manner, laughing when big Kendrick bent over. He seemed unsure of what to do. When she reached Deacon she also greeted him with a kiss. The little girl, who had simply been watching from her mother's side, yanked on Deacon's jacket. Taking off his helmet he bent down so she could look at him. With a hand on each side of his face she starred deeply into his eyes, smiled, and then kissed him on each cheek. Returning to her mother's side she smiled at him again. He was the only one she kissed.

"Bon. Vous êtes tout accueil ici. Je vous offrirai un bon soir," she smiled at them and left.

"Thank you, Caterine," Gunderson saw her back to her house.

"What did she just say?" Gould wondered out loud.

"Good-bye," Kendrick said behind him in his Louisiana accent. "In French." Gould looked at him and just shook his head.

* * *

Deacon sat down in a corner of the building and once again removed his helmet. A beam of sunlight shown through the window lighting his face. Sighing, he closed his eyes and, for the first time in along time, felt peace. But more than that, he felt forgiveness. With the kiss of a child his heart was beginning to heal.


	7. Chapter 7 An Old German Friend

Saints and Soldiers

(Disclaimer: I don't own any of the characters. They belong to someone else. I just like them. I dedicate this fanfic to my friend My.Psuedonym.Was.Taken)

Chapter 7 - An Old German Friend

The blizzard blew hard the rest of the day and on into the night, freezing the earth and covering the trees and buildings with a layer of ice, but inside the storage shed it was warm. The men slept, scattered throughout the room, wrapped in the blankets and quilts that Caterine had brought earlier. For the first time in four days Deacon was asleep.

Winley was on watch, sitting in the chair by the window. Looking over his notes and the map he sighed, disturbed and frustrated that he was in possession of such vital information and was unable to get it into the right hands. He couldn't just stay there while the Germans moved towards the Muese River and took over the ammo dump. All of the fighting, all of the sacrifices that had been made, would have meant nothing. He had to do something. Lives were at stake.

Glancing at his watch, he stuffed the papers inside his jacket pocket. It was time.

"Gunderson," he said to his relief. Gunderson, who was asleep across the room, awoke immediately upon hearing his name. His training, for all these years, had made him a light sleeper. "It's 0500 hours,' Winley informed him.

Gunderson sighed wearily and pulled off the warm covers. Reaching for his helmet, he took the Mauser from Winley and replaced him, rubbing the sleep from his eyes. Winley, who was wearing a flight jacket, zipped it closed and pulled on his gloves.

Gunderson knew what he was planinng. "We did everything we could, Winley."

Winley nodded and smiled, appreciatively. "We certainly did," his British accent thick. "Still," he sighed, "here I sit all nice and comfy while …," he voice trailed off, unable to finish his sentence as he continued pulling his gloves on. When he finished he straightened his shoulders and looked at Gunderson. "You boys have been super, but I'm figuring I best get on with it."

All Gunderson could do was nod. Looking out at the blizzard, as the wind rattled the window pane, he looked back at Winley.

"Look, if I start now, I can probably get there before morning," Winley attempted to explain.

"Yeah," Gunderson shook his head. It was a foolish and dangerous idea. "You could try. I just don't know what your frozen dead body is gonna do for anybody.'

Winley considered for a moment what he was trying to tell him. The last thing he wanted to do was face the blizzard alone. Finally reaching into his pocket he pulled out the half pack of cigarettes. "You can give these to Kendrick, if you want," he grinned weakly. "Cheeri-o!" he spoke, steeling himself and went out of the door.

"Winley!" Gould called after him Gunderson watched as he disappear into the blowing snow. "You let him go?" Gould asked, astonished.

"He's not our prisoner, Gould."

"He's gonna die out there."

"Yes, he is," Gunderson answered, as he stuck the cigarettes into his pocket and continued his watch. Gould shook his head in disgust as he pulled the blanket tighter around his neck

Winley fought his way through the blowing snow, his body already covered white. He shook violently from the freezing wind but continued on.

* * *

Later that morning Caterine made her way to the storage shed carrying a basket. Gunderson stood when she entered. He had taken a great liking to this strong willed lady.

"Bonjour!" she smiled, setting the basket on the a table. The men returned her greeting. "Bon," she said as she lifted the cloth that covered the top of the basket. "Bread," she chirped happily, as she presented her gift. Deacon got up and took the rifle from Gunderson and sat down on the same chair.

"Thank you," Gunderson said to Caterine, his eyes soft with admiration.

"Where Anglais?" she asked, looking around the room.

"Oh, ah ... Winley? Ah ... he had to leave, he ...," Gunderson began to tell her. As he spoke he was interrupted by the sound of a vehicle approaching. Deacon stood trying to see through the snow who is was.

"Deac? What is it?"

Deacon saw a vehicle pull up and stop. "We got company," he warned.

The half-track stopped in front of the farmhouse and an SS officer got out giving orders to another soldier, obviously lower ranked. When she heard the voices, Catherine cried out, "Oh, Sophie!" Grabbing the basket, she ran out of the storage building before Gunderson could stop her.

Deacon watched as she trotted up to the officer and presented the basket. Her hope was to divert their attention from the shed and the house. With a Lugar in hand, the SS officer lifted the cloth and picked up a loaf. Smelling it, he tossed it back in the basket and gave Caterine a broad toothy grin. The other German soldier thought he saw movement in the shed window and cautiously approached it, his rifle ready. He was very nearly to it when he heard the woman scream. Turning in her direction he frowned, as the SS officer grabbed Caterine around the waist, lifting her up as he tried to kiss her. She struggled, repulsed, and pulled away. Grabbing her arm he gruffly yanked her back.

"No!" she screamed. "No! No!" The German soldier frowned and he went to stop the officer. As the two Germans argued Deacon burst out of the door.

"Hände ab!" he screamed, pointing the rifle at them. "Hände ab!"

The two Germans were taken completely off guard. The soldier threw down his rifle and held his hands up. The SS officer pushed Caterine away and aimed his Lugar at Deacon. Deacon got off the first shot and killed the officer. Caterine screamed and ran into the house.

The German soldier tried to run towards the woods but Deacon fired again and he landed face down in the snow. He had only tripped and got up to run again. Deacon fired again but the soldier kept running. The fourth shot, the rifle jammed. The soldier disappeared into the woods.

"Deac, get the luger! We gotta catch him!" Gunderson ordered, as he grabbed a pitchfork.

Grabbing the Luger, they both ran after the German. Gould searched the dead officer but all he could find was a knife. Running into the woods, Gunderson and Deacon lost track of the German. "Damn it! You've got to be kidding me!" Gunderson yelled, punching the air in frustration. They had no recourse but to return to the storage shed.

Gould followed them and closed the door. "Did you get him?"

"We lost him," Gunderson answered, clearly upset.

"What happened to dead eye?" Gould asked accusingly, looking at Deacon.

"I don't know. I just couldn't hit him."

"Couldn't or wouldn't?" Gould's tone was acidic.

"Hey, I did not miss on purpose!" Deacon defended himself.

"That's a lie!"

"That's enough!" Gunderson stepped in between them. "If Deacon says he just missed him, he just missed him. We've got other things to worry about right now."

Just then, the door burst open and in charged the German soldier. Winley was behind him. Startled, the men all jumped, ready to fight.

"Look what I found!" Winley growled. "I heard gunshots so I started back through the woods and found this little bugger …" he gruffly pushed the soldier to his knees, his helmet falling off, rolling onto the floor, "... kneeling down praying his little Gerry head off."

"I say, we shoot him right now!" Kendrick held the Luger out, ready to fire.

"Shut up, Kendrick," Gunderson told him. He was trying to keep control of the situation.

"I'm with Kendrick, let's shoot him now!" Gould voiced angrily.

"With his own gun," Winley piped in. The German was crying and praying, unsure of his fate.

"We don't shoot prisoners, people." Gunderson raised his voice.

"Yeah, well HE does," Gould pointed.

"SHOOT HIM!" Kendrick yelled, his finger on the trigger.

'Shut up, Kendrick!" Gunderson grabbed him, pushing him down hard on the ground.

"What's wrong with you? SHOOT HIM!" Gould yelled at Winley, who cocked his pistol and held it to the German's head.

"WINLEY, PUT THE GUN DOWN!" Gunderson raised the rifle pointing it at him.

"Helfen Sie mir Jesus!" the German prayed, holding his head and crying for mercy.

"YOU WILL OBEY MY ORDERS! " Gunderson moved closer to Winley.

The German looked up at Deacon for a moment and back down. A look of recognition came on Deacon's face.

"Rudy?" he asked, not believing his eyes. The German looked at the American who was calling his name. Deacon quickly moved over by him. "Erinnern Sie sich an mich?"

The German looked at him and gasped. "Nathan Greer? Nathan Greer? Es ist Sie?" he looked up as Deacon who pulled the German to his feet. The rest of them just looked on, dumbfounded.

"Deacon?" Gunderson questioned, puzzled.

"This is Rudolph Gertz from Berlin," he began to explain. "When I was on a mission trip with my church, I stayed and taught his family, and I counseled --." Deacon stopped in mid-sentence. He had just realized something. "I never missed. Gundy, I didn't hit him -- but I never missed." Overwhelmed, the two men embraced, crying while the rest looked on unsure of how to react.

* * *

Later, with a lantern burning, Deacon and Rudy sat in a corner talking and praying as the rest sat at the table, sullenly watching. Kendrick was now on watch.

"Sergeant," Winley asked him. "Did you give my cigarettes to, uh …," and he motioned his head towards Kendrick. Gunderson looked at him for a moment and snorted, pulling the pack out of his pocket. But before he gave them back he took one out for himself and handed it to him. "Thanks."

"No problem," Gunderson chuckled softly.

Winley took one out and lit it.

"So, Winley, why did you come back?" Gunderson asked him, curiously.

"I heard gunshots," he explained, as he puffed on the cigarette. "And I realized I was probably going to die out there. I'm not proud of it."

"You made a choice," Gould added. "You're still alive, that's good for you."

"Yes, that's true."

"It's midnight," Kendrick said. "Gould, you're up."

The two exchanged the weapon and seats. "I see our prisoner of war is having fun," Kendrick motioned towards Deacon and the German, as the two of them talked and chuckled together.

"What's he say his name was? Adolph?" Kendrick jeered. Rudy heard him but tried to ignore the comment. "He gives me the creeps."

"It's Rudolph," Winley corrected him, harshly.

"Whatever." he shook his head and then watch him take a drag of a cigarette. He just had to have one. "Hey, Winley . I'll make you a deal. You pick a card, any card, then put it back in the deck. If I can find your card in this deck, you give me one of those smokes. What do you say?"

"Deal."

Fanning the deck out, he watched as Winley took a card. Winley pulled out the ace of hearts.

"Got it?"

Winley nodded and put the card back in the deck.

"Okay, now, you just tell me when to stop," and he began shuffling the deck.

"Stop," Winley said.

Kendrick held up part of the deck with the ace of hearts showing. "This is your card."

"Nope. Sorry Hickey."

"This IS your card," he emphasized.

Winley took a drag and blew the smoke out very slowly savoring it, as he shook his head, no.

Kendrick got up mad and stomped off. Gunderson scoffed at Winley as he shook his head in disbelief.

"You are such a ass," Gunderson scolded him.

* * *

While he was on guard, Gould had found a large stick and was now whittling on it with the knife he had confiscated from the dead German, giving Rudy a look of murder, while he and Deacon read from the Bible.

"That French lady is coming," he announced, when he saw a movement out of the window. In came Catherine with Sophie. This time Sophie carried the basket.

"Bonjour," she greeted again. "Thank you. Thank you all," she spoke in broken English. "Allez," she told Sophie. Sophie smiled and went to Gould first.

"Joyeux Noel," said to each man and held the basket out to them. In the basket were cookies she and her mother had baked..

Caterine smiled at Gunderson, but when she turned her eyes on the German, her expression went glum.

Sophie held the basket out, allowing Deacon to reach in and take out three cookies. The German looked down, not expecting anything. Caterine held out something wrapped in tin foil to him. He looked up surprised. Taking it Catherine said, "Fröhliches Weihnachten." He returned the sentiment with a nervous smile. Unwrapping the foil, it revealed a small baked potato. Deacon chuckled.

Leaving, she and Gunderson exchanged a small kiss and she was gone.

* * *

Later, as the others slept, Rudy began to fashioned something out of the foil. Gould continued carving on the stick as he watched Rudy. His dislike for the German was obvious and it made Rudy uncomfortable, but he continued.

By the next morning, the blizzard had blown itself out. The sun was shining and the small farmhouse was quiet.

Sophie had seen something shiny, sitting outside by the window of the storage shed and went to investigate. There, on the snow covered sill, was perched a tin foil angel. Carefully picking it up, she wondered where it came from.


	8. Chapter 8 Making a Trade

Saints and Soldiers

Chapter 8 - Making a Trade

Gould, who was on watch, woke up and scanned the room, looking frantically for their captive.

"Deacon!" he shouted, startled, jumping to his feet. "Where is he?"

Deacon, who was sitting a small table looking over Winley's map, looked at Gould apprehensively. Gunderson had been dozing against the wall. At Gould's alarming tone he woke up and also scanned the room.

"Where's the Kraut, Deacon?" Gould yelled. "You let him go! You let him go, didn't you!" he accused him and charged Deacon, grabbing him by his jacket. The two began to wrestle violently. Deacon shoved Gould hard slamming him against the stone wall.

"No, Deacon!" Gunderson called out, bolting upright." Get off of him!" he grabbed Deacon pulling him away..

"Let's go, right now!" Gould charged Deacon. Gunderson deflected his punch, pushing and holding him against the wall

"Hey! Who had watch, Gould? Who had watch?" he yelled, sticking his face in Gould's.

"I did. But I fell asleep," Gould told him, apologetically.

"Then Deacon didn't let anybody go."

"Yes, I did."

"What?" Gunderson looked at him incredulously.

"Come on, what'd you wanna do, Gundy? Take him with us?"

"No, I wanted to shoot him, remember?" Gould tried to charge him again but Gunderson stopped him.

This time Gunderson grabbed Deacon's jacket. "What the hell were you thinking? he growled.

"I made a trade."

* * *

"Rudy told me the weather's pretty much shut down all movement on either side," he explained, with all of the men now looking on. Sitting once again at the table, he pointed to a specific place on Winley's map "And Manhay is in the middle of some of the heaviest fighting right now. So we wouldn't be able to get Winley through anyway. But he also said an unknown number of Germans are making a push towards this little town, ah ... Lyon."

"That's less than six kilometers away," Winley stated, surprised.

"Right. These are our nearest boys. I think we can make it through to them."

"Yeah, sure," Gould scoffed, sarcastically. "Through a fully armed Kraut division." He had been pacing the floor, wanting so badly to get his hands on Deacon. In his eyes, he was an enemy sympathizer, worse than the enemy, itself.

Deacon sighed, clearly upset at Gould's words, but continued to explain. "We sneak through."

Winley listened, liking what he heard, and looked hopefully at Gunderson. Gunderson was considering what Deacon was saying. All of the men, including Gould, were beginning to see the possibility of it working.

"I like it," Gunderson, finally said. "I don't love it -- but I like it.'

"Right, and with a full arsenal of two pistols and two rifles?" Gould spit out. Unfortunately he was right.

"Kendrick, you check the back of that rig." Deacon suggested.

* * *

"It's not much but we gotta make it count," Deacon said, as they gathered what weaponry they could find from the half-track. Now each man had a rifle, several rounds of ammo and some confiscated American grenades.

"It's out of gas," Kendrick told Gunderson, referring to the half-track.

"Alright, load up the dead German in the back and run it as far as you can on fumes and ditch it," Gunderson told him. Kendrick nodded.

* * *

"What kind of name is Oberon?" Kendrick asked Winley, as they once again moved through the Ardennes Forest.

"It's from Shakespeare. You ever heard of him?"

"Yeah."

"What kind of a name is Shirl?"

"It's short for Shirley."

"Shirley?" Winley questioned, trying ot to laugh.

"Yes, Shirley."

"Don't get me wrong, I … I love the name Shirley. In fact, it's my mother's name."

Kendrick looked back at him and chuckled. This Brit wasn't so bad afterall.

Gould walked beside Deacon, their feet crunching in the snow. He was so angry, it was all he could do to keep from pounding him into the ground. Instead, he stooped to verbal bashing.

"You trying to get us killed?" he accused.

"Is that what you think?" Deacon questioned.

"Marching through enemy lines -- there's no danger there, huh?" he spat the words, hatefully.

"Yeah well, it seemed like the right thing to do."

"We die trying?"

"Yeah, maybe."

Now was his chance for the death blow. "Of course, if someone killed a bunch of innocent women and children, this might be a real great way to make up for it, right?' his words dripped with venom. Deacon's eyes narrowed at Gould, not believing his ears, as hurt, shock and anger swept across his face. "Is that what your little Bible tells you? Huh? Is this your penance?"

He wanted so badly to say something to him. Cut him down with a sharp quip, or a right jab to the jaw. Something. "You know what," he finally said, slinging his rifle over his shoulder. Pulling the Bible from his pocket, he took out his wife's picture and handed it to him.

"Here."

"What?"

"Take it, I can get another one."

"I don't want your book."

"Really, 'cause with all your questions you seem awful curious." He slipped it back in his pocket and swung off his rifle back around. "Get back in formation," he ordered him and walked away.

Gould sneered and narrowed his eyes at him.


	9. Chapter 9 The Enemy Strikes

Saints and Soldiers

(This was a bit difficult to write because of all the action so please forgive me if the action seems staccato in places. As usual, I don't own the characters and I'm not making anything off of this except experience to write better. I hope you enjoy it.)

Chapter 9 - The Enemy Strikes

They came upon a small band of German soldiers on a snowy road. They were working on one of their vehicles as steam poured out the engine. From behind a large snow bank, the Allied band of soldiers cautiously watched them.

"Let's take 'em," Kendrick said. Gunderson looked at him like he was crazy. "Or not," he rethought, realizing his stupid statement. "We lay low, keep moving."

"That's good thinking, Kendrick," Gunderson scolded him. "What are we, about a mile from Lyon?" he turned to Winley.

"Sounds about right."

"Alright, sun's starting to peek through. Let's go, boys."

They moved towards the direction of Lyon, avoiding the Germans all together. Deacon watched, squatted down making sure they weren't seen. Gunderson knelt down next to him.

"How you doing?" he asked Deacon, still concerned about him.

"Aright," Deacon nodded. The rest he had gotten had done wonders.

"You know," Gunderson grinned, looked around, " this really is beautiful country."

"Yeah, I knew you liked her," Deacon teased, referring to Caterine.

Gunderson snickered. "I think I want to learn French."

Blood splattered in Deacon's face as Gunderson's neck split open. He went down in the snow holding his throat and gurgling on his own blood. Deacon turned and fired at the German only hitting the tree he was hiding behind. The German ran calling for the others.

"Damn! Gunderson! NO!" he called out as the snow around Gunderson turn crimson.

Blood poured from Gunderson's mouth and neck as he struggled to breathe. Gould was immediately there and reached for him, trying to stop the profuse bleeding. Deacon followed the German and killed him with a bullet to the back. The group of Germans were immediately alerted by the rifle fire. Deacon ran back to Gunderson.

"Stay with me, Gundy!" Gould kept saying to him.

"Gundy! Gundy! I'm coming," Deacon called out.

"Breathe, breathe!" Gould said over and over as he held the bandage over the gaping wound. Gunderson struggled, kicking in the snow and then became quiet.

"No! Help him!" Deacon pleaded.

Gould checked him. "He's dead."

"No! No, he's not!" Deacon wept.

The group of Germans rushed towards the sound. Rudy, who had been was sitting behind the wheel, watch them go, uncertain of what to do.

Gould heard the Germans coming closer. "Come on, we gotta go! We gotta go, now! Come on! Come on!" he grabbed Deacon, pulling him away from Gunderson's body.

A German positioned himself behind a tree and brought his rifle up but Kendrick saw him first and fired. The German slumped over dead. Winley raised his pistol and was hit in the thigh.. He collapsed on the ground screaming. Kendrick pulled the pin on a grenade and launched it towards a group of running Germans. It exploded, killing three of them.

"Come on, Winley, let's go," Kendrick yelled, reaching down.

"I can't," Winley moaned in pain.

"Come on, I'll help you," Big Kendrick lifted him up, practically carrying him. They moved through the trees trying to get away from the enemy.

Kendrick tripped and the two of them fell. Gould and Deacon rushed over to help them.

"Kendrick, go see if we're being followed," Gould told him.

"Go to hell, Gould."

"Now!" he yelled.

"You go! Or are you too worried about saving your own skin!" The words stung because he was afraid. He was afraid to die.

"I'll go," Deacon told them.

"No, you're not going anywhere," he grabbed Deacon but Deacon pulled away. "Deacon! Deac!"

Going back the way they had come he watched as the Germans stripped Gunderson's body. His heart sank to see his friend was being treated in such a manner. Deacon knew he had to do something to get them to safety. Looking around he spotted what looked like the ruins of a stone fortress.

Gould was trying to bandage Winley's leg when Deacon returned.

"They're still all over the place," Deacon told them.

"What do we do now?" Kendrick asked.

Winley's leg was bleeding badly and Gould knew he had to get the bullet out of his leg before he bled to death. "We need to find a place I can work on him."

"Can he move?" Deacon asked

"Yes, yes, I can move," Winley winched.

"Alright, follow me."

* * *

At the fortress behind a wall, Gould cut Winley's pants to get to his leg. Winley moaned loudly in pain. Deacon kept watch as Gould began to work on Winley. Kendrick covered his mouth with his big gloved hand to help stifle his screams. "It's alright, you're doing good," Gould encouraged him. Winley quivered in pain as he bit down on the glove and screamed a muffled scream. "I got it, I got it. Alright, you're gonna be aright, " Gould told him as he pulled the bullet out of Winley's leg with a knife.

"Hang in there, Winley," Kendrick said, as he watched Gould sprinkle sulfa powder over the wound. It both cleansed the wound and helped the blood to clot.

"You're not gonna bleed to death," Gould comforted him. "We'll take you to an aid station. You'll be alright," he told him, as he wrapped a compression bandage around Winley's thigh.

"Shhh!!" Kendrick warned as he heard something behind them. "Krauts," he whispered and pointed

Whistling a strange little tune, a German soldier was behind the crumbling wall. Swinging his machine gun over his shoulder, he urinated onto a bush. Gould finished bandaged Winley's leg while Kendrick kept an eye on the German, rifle ready, waiting for him to finish and leave.

Glancing down, the German saw bloody tracks in the snow and followed them with his eyes. That's when he saw Kendrick's helmet below him. Shouting a warning to the other Germans, Kendrick heard him and quickly fired. The whistling German collapsed dead on the urine soaked bush.

"Let's go!" he shouted, hearing the sound of running boots approaching. Gould could see them moving in the upper levels of the fortress.

"Heads up! Get moving!" he shouted. Kendrick picked up Winley and they took off following Gould. Gould fired at the enemy between a gap in he wall but missed.

"Triples on the right flank!" Gould yelled and Deacon turned and fired. There was an exchange of gunfire as they made their way across what looked like the a courtyard.

Finding an opening that was enclosed by a short wall of decorative bricks, they jumped over the wall and into some sort of alcove. It provided a little protection. Deacon threw a grenade at a German and it exploded sending him sailing in pieces.

Gould fired over and over as he knelt behind the wall trying to hold off some of the Germans so Kendrick and Winley could get away, but Kendrick stopped behind them and waited. He had laid Winley down. One German found a place behind brush pile and fired nearly hitting Gould. He ducked, as the bullets ricocheted off the wall around his head.

"I got him!" Deacon yelled and raised his rifle, killing him.

Behind a pile of dirt and rocks more Germans positioned themselves firing at Gould and Deacon. Deacon tossed out another grenade but it went off in front of the dirt pile doing no harm. Shooting at them over and over, Deacon kept their heads down .

One German raised up to throw a potato masher at them but Deacon's bullet found its mark and he fell backwards as the masher rolled in front of the other German. He picked it up to throw it and it went off in his hand.

"I'm out!" Deacon yelled. Gould tossed him a clip of ammo and turned to find better footing. That's when he saw Kendrick. He had thought they had moved to a safer place by now.

"Kendrick, get Winley outta here!" he screamed.

Kendrick picked Winley up and moved away.

"Alright, ready? Move!" Deacon ordered, as he brought down three more Germans.

Just then a German grenade landed close to them.

"Grenade! Move! Move! Move!" Gould screamed and they both ran. It exploded barely missing them. The Germans advanced after them.

Kendrick helped Winley, trying to find a way out of the maze of stone walls and steps. Just as he turned the corner a German soldier did the same from the opposite direction and raised his rifle. Kendrick pulled Winley into a doorway as the bullet ricocheted off the wall missing them both. Setting Winley down he swung his rifle around and jumped out firing on the German killing him.

"Come on," he said to Winley as he helped him up again. Winley moaned in pain as he put his arm around Kendrick's shoulder. Gould and Deacon ran up some other steps, firing behind them trying to keep the Germans at bay.

Reaching the top of the fortress, Kendrick found some trees and knew he could hide in them. Winley was weak from blood loss and so he put him on his back and carried him through the snow.

"Stay with me. Stay with me," he kept saying to Winley over and over. "We're gonna make it. We're gonna make it."

But just as he reached the tree line, a German popped up and fired, hitting Kendrick in the chest. He fell sending Winley sprawling on the ground. Winley pulled out his pistol out and waited for the German.

"Quiet," he said to the moaning Kendrick. He could see the German cautiously moving towards them.

* * *

Gould and Deacon ran to the end of the wall that led to yet another path. They were beginning to wonder if there was any way out. Hiding on either side of the opening where they had just come from, they stopped to catch their breath but could hear the Germans running, nearly upon them.

"Fire in the hole," Gould said and tossed in a grenade. It rolled down to where the Germans were running and exploded killing them just feet away from where Gould and Deacon had just stopped.

* * *

Winley could hear the German's boots crunching in the snow and he waited as he approached. The German saw Kendrick as he struggled on the ground and raised his rifle to finish his task. Just as he came around the edge of the tree to get a shot, Winley fired his pistol hitting him in the head killing him instantly.

Kendrick held his hands over his blood soaked chest, wheezing and coughing up blood.

"Hang on, Hickey. Hang on. Gould will be here in a second," Winley pleaded. "Just hang on," he begged.

"Help ….," Kendrick gasped and gurgled.

From his jacket pocket, Winley pulled out the pack of cigarettes and pulled one out. "Just hang on, hang on!" he shook as he cried, placing it in Kendrick's mouth and attempted to light it. Over and over he flicked the lighter. "Hang on! Hang on! I'll get it! Hang on!" he kept pleading with Kendrick.

Kendrick's expression relaxed and his hand dropped lifeless to his side.

Winley stopped as he realized that he had just lost the man that saved his life. The same man that he had teased and tormented so badly. "I'm sorry," he wept. "I'm so sorry."

* * *

Deacon and Gould finally reached the top of the hill the fortress was built on, trying to locate Kendrick and Winley.

Winley limped painfully, trying to find them. Struggling, he stopped on a rock and sat, holding the bloody bandage with his hand. He could barely move.

"Where are they?" Gould scanned the area.

Deacon was also looking when he saw Winley sitting on the rock. "Right there!" he pointed.

Below Winley was a swollen stream of water that crashed over jagged rocks. He heard Gould and Deacon calling him and tried to move towards their voices. Struggling trying to move, he stumbled and grabbed a limb. It snapped and he fell crashing into the freezing water below. He gasped, his body shocked from the cold, and tried to upright himself grasping at the rocks, but the current was strong and he was swept down stream.

Running alongside the river, they spotted Winley lying face down alongside the bank. Over and over they yelled his name but there was no reaction from him.

"Come on!" Deac said as they made their way down to where he laid.

"Winley, we're here. Winley."

"Hang on, buddy. Come on let's get him out of here."

They each grabbed an arm and pulled him out of the water and onto the side of the stream. The ground was still covered with snow. Rolling him over he spurted and coughed up water as he gasped for air.

"I can't swim," he admitted. The two of them laughed.

"Is that your big secret?" Gould asked him.

As they tended to him, a German soldier snuck up from behind them in the woods, his rifle drawn.

"Where's Kendrick?" Gould asked.

"Kendrick's dead," Winley looked up at them, shivvering violently. They stopped and looked at each other sadly.

Gould looked at Winley's bluish face, concerned, when he saw a movement out of the corner of his eye in the trees. His eyes widdened in fear. Deacon looked up at Gould and then over to what he was looking at.

There stood Rudy, his weapon drawn. Recognizing them both, he looked around to see if anyone was watching. Seeing no one, he trotted up to them. Rudy spoke to Deacon. Gould listened, not knowing what these two were hatching. Was this when Deacon and his Gerry friend would collaborate against him?

Lifting his finger to his lips, Rudy pointed towards the sound of where the column of the German vehicles were moving out. Then he pointed to a captured American jeep with a Nazi flag draped across the hood, that had obviously been forgotten. Deacon nodded and answered him. Rudy sighed heavily and spoke something to Deacon and then to Gould, patting each on their shoulder, and left.

"What was that last thing he said? Gould asked him.

"He said, 'God be with you.' "

Gould was speechless. Not only did the enemy help them to escape, he then blessed them.


	10. Chapter 10 One Last Breath

Saints and Solders

(Ok, now I'm mad. The edits I had made on the site did not go through as I had hoped. This time I edited them on my computer before I downloaded them to the site. Please forget the previous two chapters. Read and review these updated ones. Thank you so much.)

Chapter 10 - One Last Breath

Deacon threw Winley over his shoulder as he and Gould made their way to the jeep.

"So, what now?" Deacon asked him.

"I don't know," Gould looked around. "How's your German?"

Three dead naked Germans laid in the snow, their uniforms now gracing the bodies of the three Allied soldiers.

Making sure Winley was comfortable in the back, Deacon crawled into the driver side of the jeep.

"Alright, Rudy said the German line is about a half a mile up that way," he pointed straight ahead of them.. "This road will take us straight through the clearing where they're encamped.. Our boys are dug in on the other side. Ready?" he looked back at Gould and then Winley, who covered with dry blankets.

"We get Winley through … save some lives," Gould finalized their objective.

"That's the idea."

Reaching down, Deacon started the engine.

"I hid," Gould confessed, humbly. Deacon frowned at him, confused. "I didn't sign up. I tried to dodge the draft. My father came and found me."

"Is that your big secret?" Deacon asked, softly.

"Did you get that, Winley?" Gould asked, glancing back at him.

Winley nodded thoughtfully, realizing how difficult it was for him to confess and why he kept his 'secret' to himself.

Deacon put the jeep in gear and it moved forward and down the muddy, half frozen road.

* * *

The Germans had set up a camp on either side of the road. Tents were scattered throughout the woods at various locations. Most of the soldiers wore white winter uniforms for camouflage. Everywhere were battle wearied, hardened soldiers and SS officers whose main goal, at the moment, was keeping warm.

"Gould, cover up those weapons," Deacon told him, as they approached the camp.

"All right, Winley. Look sick," Gould told him, as he pulled some covers over the weaponry. It was not difficult for Winley, he was already pale from blood loss.

Gould held his breath as they entered the camp and he tightened his grip on the machine gun that laid across his lap. The appearance of an the jeep drew curious stares from the soldiers but seeing the uniforms and the Swastika flag on the hood, most shrugged it off.

On the muddy road, a tough looking soldier directed traffic. Around his neck he wore a small breast plate that read Feldgendarmerle. Stopping Deacon, he approached them.. He had never seen an American jeep up close and he chose this opportunity to do so. Deacon turned the engine off as he had been instructed. When he questioned him, Deacon replied, pointing to the back of the jeep. The German grimly looked at Winley, alarmed at his paleness and nodded, pointing to a sign with red crosses on it that stood at the head of a crossroad. It read Feldlazarett and pointed to the left. Deacon thanked him and started the engine back up.

The German leaned close to Gould and asked him a question. Feeling apprehensive, Gould put his finger on the trigger of the machine gun, preparing to start shooting. A look of uncertainty and suspicion moved across the German's face. Deacon had to do something fast before they were found out, so he revved the engine, held down the brake and spun the tires, causing them to bog down in the mud.

Hitting the steering wheel angrily he shouted, "Verdammen Sie es! Ich bin in den Schlamm gesteckt! Diese dummen amerikanischen Fahrzeuge haben die Zugkraft nicht, die deutsche Fahrzeuge haben!" pleading with the German for help.

"Ja," he nodded and called some soldiers to help push the jeep out of the mud. Deacon and Gould looked at each other as the jeep lurched forward.

"Danke!" Deacon waved as he pulled away. "Hang on," Deacon told Gould as they approached the crossroad and sped up. The Feldgendarmerle , who had been watching them, yelled that they were going in the wrong, pointing for them to go right.

When they didn't stop he shouted, "HALT! HALT!"

Gould looked back and yelled, "GO! GO! GO!"

Turning the machine gun on the Germans, he began they firing at them.

* * *

From a large foxhole some American soldiers heard the firing and poked their heads up.

"What's going on?" one asked.

"I can't tell," replied the other.

One of the men looked through a pair of binoculars in the direction of the firing.

"I think they're trying to make a push," he said astounded, watching the jeep race down the road towards them. The road turned from mud to snow as Deacon sped towards the Americans. Gould continued firing at the Germans.

"There's a jeep coming from right over there," he pointed.

"Better get the Sarge on the radio."

"Right. Foxtrot 2-9er calling Foxtrot 0-2," he spoke on a radio. "We got a jeep coming from out of nowhere … over … out."

"That's one of our jeeps," the first soldier said as he watched through the binoculars. "But that's a Gerry flag on the hood. What are they trying to do?"

"I don't know what you got in mind, Gerry, but it ain't gonna happen." The second soldier frowned as he cocked his machine gun and prepared to fire.

"The flag!" Deacon yelled out. "Now! Get it!" Gould ripped off the flag from the hood and tossed it away.

"Hang on a second," the first soldier said, checking through the binoculars again.

A mortar shell hit close to the jeep but missed. Gould began waving a white cloth yelling, "AMERICANS! AMERICANS! WE'RE AMERICANS!"

"What is it?" the Sarge asked, jumping in the trench with them.

"We got two Krauts coming in right there," the first soldier pointed.

He looked through the binoculars at the approaching jeep as it dodged several shells. One hit too close and the jeep was thrown off the road landing on its side throwing its occupants out across the snow. Deacon rolled but immediately ut jumped to his feet. Winley, who was hanging half out of the jeep, crying out loudly in pain.

Deacon and Gould reached for him, helping him out of the jeep. The Germans, who had been chasing the jeep, were now shooting on it. Deacon and Gould returned fire.

"They're shooting at each other," the Sergeant observed. "You know what, I think those boys are ours. Let's give them some cover fire. COVER FIRE!" he shouted out. "INTO THE TREES! ON ME!"

There was a volley of firing from the Americans pinning down the Germans.

Gould ran out of ammo."I'm out! I'm out!" Gould shouted to Deacon. Deacon only had enough ammo for his rifle.

Peeking around the jeep, Gould tried to see if there was a way to the Americans by the road but only managed to dodge several bullets as they ricocheted off the jeep.

"You take Winley and go," Deacon pointed to the woods " I'll cover you."

A mortar exploded close, spraying dirt and mud over them.

"I'm not going to leave without you," Gould told him.

"You go now!" Deacon shouted.

"No!"

Deacon knew he had to somehow reason with Gould in order to get them to safety. "I'll be right behind you," he reassured him, calmly. Gould looked at him for a moment, wavering, but realized it was the best course of action. Nodding, he reached for Winley.

Deacon watched as they made their way through the snow. Gould had Winley's arm over his shoulder as he tried to run with him. The Americans regrouped and fired down on the Germans.

A big German ran behind a tree matching bullet for bullet with Deacon. Running out of ammo, Deacon looked desperately around for another weapon. He saw one lying in the snow several feet away in the snow. Picking up a grenade, he pulled the pin and flung it and lunged for the rifle.

Gould and Winley continued pushing their way through the deep snow, but Winley's injuries made their progress slow.

Making it to the rifle he raised it, firing at the big German, hitting him in the arm. Looking behind him he was satisfied with how far Gould and Winley had gotten and turned to start towards them. A mortar shell hit the jeep. It exploded with such force that it sent Deacon flying backwards, the rifle sailing from his hands, landing face first on the hard ground. Gould and Winley stopped, looking back in shock at the explosion.

"Deacon," Gould spoke his name. Everything in him wanted to go back to help him but he couldn't leave Winley.

Deacon scrambled to his feet, disoriented, his head spinning from the impact. Somehow he found the rifle in the snow. Raising the rifle preparing to fire, a sniper found his target, striking Deacon in the chest. Deacon's body reverberated from the impact. He attempted to raise the rifle once more. Again he was struck in the chest. Shuttering, he went to his knees. A third bullet found his heart. Gould watched in horror as Deacon fell backwards in the snow. His body shook violently and then lay motionless.

A his life slipping away, two women and six children appeared by his side. The faces that had once been filled with horror were now filled with peace. Reaching out to him they embraced him and accepted him. Happily he smiled and embraced them back, disappearing in a smoky mist.

With a heavy sigh, Gould lifted Winley higher in his arms and hurried to the Americans where they were immediately surrounded by soldiers, their rifles on them, assuming they were Germans. Out of sheer exhaustion Gould and Winley collapsed on the ground. Gould was so grateful to be on safe territory, he didn't even mind when they searched him for intelligence. The Americans stepped up their defense, quickly overwhelming the Germans.

* * *

Winley showed the Sergeant his map and notes, explaining to him in great detail what the Germans were planning. He listened in astonishment, realizing the significance of the information.

Later, Gould watched as Winley was gently placed on a jeep and taken to a field hospital. After the fighting was over, Gould sat down, leaning against a tree and removed the Kraut uniform. For the first time in days he had the chance to pondered the things that had witnessed and of the three "brothers" he had lost: Gunderson, Kendrick and Deacon, and all they had been through.


	11. Chapter 11 Going Home

1Saints and Soldiers

Chapter 11 - Going Home

Several Germans stood with their hands in the air as the Americans stripped them of their weaponry and gear. After a long, hard battle, the Americans had prevailed. Rounding them up in small groups, they were prepared to be shipped to POW camps.

After being debriefed, Gould had returned to duty wearing the familiar arm bands and helmet with a red cross. Asking around, he was told where to find Deacon's body and so he walked down the muddy road.

Asking another Medic he was pointed to a blanket covered body lying beside the road. Kneeling down, he pulled the blanket back revealing Deacon's body. His arms were folded respectfully across his chest and, except for the blood stains on his shirt, looked as though he was sleeping.

"You saved my life," he spoke softly to him.

Pulling the Bible from Deacon's front pocket, he opened the cover revealing the picture of his wife. Taking the picture out, he placed it in Deacon's hand and stuck the Bible in his pocket.

"Rest in peace, Deac," he said, and covered him back up with the blanket.

Several P-40's flew overhead and Gould stood, watching them with a sense of awe and pride.

A group of Germans walked down the road, guarded by some Americans soldiers. Gould glanced over and saw Rudy walking with them. He wanted to run to him, tell him that Deacon was dead and to thank him for his help. When Rudy saw him he grinned and nodded. Gould returned the nod.

Several wounded Germans were grouped together under guard. One of them was a big German holding his shoulder. Gould recognized him as the German at Malmedy that Deacon had taken the rifle away from a week ago, the same one Deacon had just shot. Kneeling down, he checked his shoulder. The German's eyes widened when he recognized Gould. Pulling a bandage from his pack, Gould proceeded to care for him.

Later, the Americans began pulling out, heading to one of the most decisive battles of the European Theater.

THE END


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